


the heat

by pendragonfics



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hot, Light Angst, M/M, Moving Out, No pronouns used for Reader, Summer, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: It’s too hot to cope, and your boyfriend Clint isn’t the best roommate.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader, Clint Barton/You
Kudos: 14





	the heat

**Author's Note:**

> UNI IS DONE FOR THE SEMESTER AND I'M ON A FANFIC WRITING BINGE YAHOOOOO

Summertime never came easily. There were either cold days, and then hot days, and no in-between. But then, once the heat had hit, it was there to stay. And stay it did: it lingered like a bad smell that remained with a vengeance. It didn’t help that Clint Barton’s apartment was most certainly not up to code, and all of this heat made its home in his home. If only you’d taken up the Avengers’ offer of living in the tower in Manhattan, and not rent-free in Clint’s trashy studio apartment that had rats, no insulation and terrible water pressure. 

At least you didn’t live in a location often targeted by any of the team’s arch-nemesis. 

Right now, you’re struggling to get up from the couch. It’s from the goodwill, has a perpetual stickiness to it, and has you now stuck to it in a layer of sweat. At least from the couch, you can scroll through your feed and charge your phone relatively unencumbered -- of course, despite the lack of air conditioning. From the other side of the living area, Clint sits at the dinner table, fiddling with his arrows. Somehow, he’s not as affected by the heat as you. 

While you look like a melting popsicle, he’s the sort of hot that makes his body glisten rather than melt into the polyethylene around the place. His phone, a cracked smartphone that sends janky emojis, plays the radio and he hums along to it. If you push yourself up on your elbows, you can see he’s smiling and humming along to the music while he makes a mess of his arrows. If the heat wasn’t so cloying in your mind, you might think of him as a sex god, or a complete himbo (or honestly, how he’s both of those simultaneously). But seeing him so unaffected makes you feel worse. 

“How can you…” you whimper, falling back on your back, the pool of sweat-slick as you slip into it once more. “Ugh, you’re too perfect.” 

“Hmm?” he looks your way. “What?” 

“I can’t deal with this,” you moan. Clicking off your phone, you struggle to make your body obey your commands and getting up, you look at your practically perfect boyfriend. “It’s too damn hot!” 

“Ever since that mission to that active Icelandic volcano, the heat just doesn’t get to me,” he boasts cluelessly, going on with his business. Taking a trick arrow, the signal-jamming one, he flicks the switch on. His phone stops playing the music, and panicking, he switches the arrow back off. He looks back to you, and seeing that you haven’t spoken or moved, frowns, “Babe?” 

You shake your head, and with little strength, stalk off to the bathroom. Perhaps a cold shower can fix the drowsiness. But when you get in there, you’re met with an ungodly mess. How was the man you love allowed to be an adult, let alone an Avenger? 

Turning on your heel, incensed, you grab your bag. Grumbling about his obsession with the putty arrow under your breath, you shove your flip flops on. You don’t look his way, and throwing things into your duffle that’s usually for longterm away missions, within five minutes you’re in rideshare on your way to the tower. 

Either the heat is just too much, but when you get out and access the entry to the once-Stark Tower, there’s little to no fans or press gathering there, to which you’re glad. There’s no way that your armpit stains were presentable enough for a pic in the gossip rag. But once you get into the Tower, there’s a feeling that comes over yourself; relief or orgasm, it’s heavenly. 

Thank Thor’s father that Stark spared no expense with his state of the art thermostat. 

Once you make it to the level assigned for team meetings and such, you’re sure feeling like life has come back into your body. Dumping your duffle on the empty oval table, you stalk toward the minifridge by the wall of windows and take out a bottle of water. 

“Is there a mission I missed the briefing for?” 

You choke on the mouthful of ice-cold water, and spluttering, turn to see Sam Wilson standing in the doorway. He’s wearing his own Captain America t-shirt merch under a jean jacket and laughs as you wipe the water off your front. 

“You ass,” you cough, but he doesn’t react. Taking a moment, you look at the duffle, and back to Sam. “...I can’t believe I only lasted two weeks there.” 

“To be fair, that man is used to worse places to hang his jacket,” He raises a brow, and coming further into the room, takes a good look at you. “No, yeah, I see just why you’re here…” he laughs, “your sweat patches have sweat patches.” 

“Stop it,” you moan. “...I’m in a proper mess.” 

“Do I look like someone who can help with your love life?” he asks, deadpan. “Look, ______. It’s on you that you moved in too quickly with the team’s resident disaster.” 

You agree. As you take a moment to centre yourself, Sam goes to his usual seat at the table and takes a seat sideways so his legs are over the armrests. You take a deep breath and place the water bottle on the table, and then start to rummage around in the duffle for your phone. Your hand touches everything else but your phone; your gym clothes, a sleep mask, the tee-shirt that Clint let you steal that has gosh I love arrows in writing across the chest. But no phone. 

“It’s on the -,” you sigh, and turning to Sam, ask, “Can I borrow your phone?”

He looks over. “No,” he says, but slides it your way. 

“I owe you so much,” you tell him, and type in your number, calling your phone. Apart from the jingles in advertisements and your parent’s landline, you can’t remember Clint’s number beyond the first two digits. “Name the favour, and I’ll do it no matter how big…” 

“Just call your boyfriend so I can go back to playing my phone game,” he teases. 

Clint picks up on the second ring, and answers, “Sam! I know you’re cheating on me with ______!” 

You can’t help but laugh. “Clint! No, it’s me. I’m at the tower.” 

“Huh,” he says. “...are you cheating on me?” he asks. 

“No!” you sigh and palm your forehead. “Clint, no. I - I love you.” He’s quiet on his side of the phone line. Maybe it’s because this whole thing is unprecedented, or because neither of you has ever said the  _ l _ word before about each other. Taking his silence as a good thing, you add, “but I can’t live with you anymore. It’s just so...hard to live there.” 

“I love you too,” he says, quietly. 

For a moment, both he and you are silent, and you feel a small thing in your chest; whether it’s sadness or a tinge of hope, you’re not sure. But it’s growing with every second that you can’t find the words to say what you need. 

“I - I’ll move places. We’ll get a nicer apartment, with no rats and good water pressure. Closer to the water. I have the money for it,” he says. 

“Clint, I can’t live with you,” you say again. “I’m moving into the Tower.”

“Is this…” he says, and quietly, asks you, “Is this you breaking up with me?” 

“No, no…” you murmur. “No. No, Clint, I love you. I just can’t live with you right now. Especially with this heat, and the way you leave a mess all over the place, and I really - I think we need some time living apart. But no, gosh no, I’m still into you. Big time.” 

“Big-time?” he repeats, and for a second, you wish that you could see his face. God, he was stupid, but beautiful, a skilled Avenger but a child at heart and soul. “Okay, um, okay. I’ll bring your stuff over next time I can, your phone too.” 

“I’m sorry about how I handled all this,” you tell him. “I’m...you know all this relationship stuff is new to me.” 

“Yeah,” he sounds like he’s smiling as he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll be the best boyfriend that doesn’t live with you that you can ever have.” 

You smile. “Thanks, Clint.” 

“You betcha, babe.” He says, and with a few more words, hangs up. 

You look over to Sam, but he’s not sitting over where he was. You can’t see him at all, and when you look down at his phone, you realise that the last time it was used before you got it, was yesterday. 

“...I gotta get my powers in check,” you mutter, putting the phone down. Gathering your duffle, you move back to the elevator, and start the process of setting up yourself for your new life in the Tower. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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